


I Am Become Dovah

by Komar



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apocalypse, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow To Update, Unhealthy Relationships, apocrypha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21685021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Komar/pseuds/Komar
Summary: During the battle at the summit of Apocrypha, things do not go as the Dragonborn had planned. Instead of defeating Miraak, the Dragonborn is defeated in battle. Miraak tries to absorb the soul of a heavily wounded Dragonborn, but can not complete the feat before Hermaeus Mora intervenes, saving his life. With the power drawn from the Dragonborn, Miraak is able to escape Apocrypha and begin his campaign of conquering Mundus, as he had begun to many millennia ago.Defeated and near-dead, the Dragonborn is left to the mercy of Hermaeus Mora. It is another decade before he returns to Nirn.Upon the Dragonborn's reappearance, Miraak does not remain idle, and sends a legion of his newly formed dragon preists to seize the Dragonborn. He is given a choice. Join Miraak, or lose the rest of his soul. No longer a match for his adversary, the Dragonborn bends the knee and joins the dragon priests under Miraak's command.Now with only half a soul, he bides his time to gather his strength to take back his power from Miraak.
Relationships: Blaise/Original Male Character, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Miraak/Runa Fair-Shield, Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Runa Fair-Shield/Grimvar Cruel-Sea
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	I Am Become Dovah

**Author's Note:**

> All children have been aged up in this fic, thus there is not under-age relationships.
> 
> Looking for a beta reader and lore master!

_He stood in Sovngarde, abreast with the Heroes of Old; Gormlaith Golden-hilt, beautiful as she was fierce; Hakon One-Eye, tall and broad as an ox; and Felldir the Old, strong despite the years that had touched him. Alduin's soul snare misted the landscape, blinding them to their foe._

_“We cannot fight the foe in this mist!” Felldir exclaimed, sweeping his greataxe before him in a gesture. Indeed, Hrothr thought, to fight Alduin in the mist would be death._

_“Clear Skies, combine our shouts!” shouted Gormlaith. She inhaled sharply, looking to her comrades with a confident smile. The others too took air into their lungs, and Hrothr followed suit. They'd fought Alduin before and he trusted them with his fate._

_In unison, the four combined their shouts._

_“Lok Vah Koor!”_

_The mist departed and Hrothr's chest swelled with hope. “We're doing it!” he breathed, eyes alight with icy determination._

_“Ven Mul Riik!” Alduin answered, once more calling forth the soul-binding fog. It became a game of shouts between dov and joor -dragon and mortal-, the fog withdrawing and returning like the tides of the Sea of Ghosts._

_Bested by the combined thu'um of the Tongues and the thu'um of the dovahkiin after what seemed to be hours, Alduin was forced to face them in all his terrifying glory._

_The mighty dovah soared overhead, casting a shadow over the would be saviours of the world. Hrothr, though once already had done battle with the World-Eater, could not swallow the dread and fear that rose in his belly._

_“Yol!” tore from Hakon's lips, sending billowing flame into the air to engulf the eldest of dragons. Hrothr was snapped into action, sprinting forward to add his thu'um to the air now filled with dovahzul._

_“Joor Zah Frul!”_

_As the shout hit Alduin, the dovah screamed in rage and frustration, forced to the ground by a shout filled with hate and loathing for the dov. The very earth shook beneath the weight of the World-Eater._

_“Arrogance! I will not fall to you!” he roared as his head reared back. A spray of ice covered Gormlaith, her shield barely managing to block the freezing shout of death aimed at her._

_“You have no choice!” Hrothr snarled, leaping over Gormlaith to land on Alduin's head. His weight combined with the force of his momentum drove the dov's head downward, leaving his rear exposed to Felldir's axe. The weapon bit harshly into Alduin's leg, rewarding the aged nord with a piercing shriek._

_Hrothr, still on Alduin's head, ran up the World-Eater's spine, pummelling him with another dragonrend. His ebony sword flicked out, bouncing off of Alduin's scales, looking for a weak spot to exploit._

_Suddenly, Alduin lurched beneath him, spinning to the left. Hrothr was flung to the ground, the air driven from his lungs on impact. A moment later, the large black head hovered above him, maw parting to reveal rows of sharp, sharp teeth._

_“Zu'u unslaad, zu'u nis oblaan.”_

_Teeth closed down around him and his soul was sundered from his screaming corpse._

Bruin woke with a start, flinging his book across the room. It landed with a dull thud against the wooden walls, landing on its pages. Panting, Bruin's grey eyes slowly focussed, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He was home, safe and sound, in his favourite chair.

Alduin was seven years dead, and still, the bastard haunted him.

Bruin stood and began pacing back and forth before the fireplace as he attempted to quell the feeling of uneasiness. It had been a long time since he had had a dream as vivid as that, and it sat poorly on his consciousness.

“Zu'u unslaad, zu'u nis oblaan,” he muttered as he scratched at his beard, the other hand pressed to his broad chest in an attempt to slow his heart to a normal pace. Although he was dovahkiin and could shout like a dragon, Bruin had not studied with the greybeards long enough to become even remotely fluent in dovahzul. Alduin's last words echoed in his mind, after all those years.

When his heart calmed and his mind settled, Bruin took the kettle outside to fill it with snow. Living in the mountains north of Lake Yorgrim, he had no need for a well. The snow fell year-round, providing him with all the water he needed. As much as his children complained, the isolation and the freezing air was good for his soul, or so he liked to think.

After the defeat of Alduin, Hrothr disappeared. He wasn't Hrothr anymore. He was Bruin, just another nord living in the snowy mountains of Skyrim. More like hiding in the snowy mountains of Skyrim, he thought, frowning between shovelfuls of snow. The prophecy had been fulfilled. There were only two options after that: Stick around long enough to see himself become the villain; Or go back to his life before the dovah sos awoke in him. It had been an easy choice.

Light was beginning to creep over the peaks to the east, heralding the day to come. He was thinking of going hunting when he stepped back into his small cottage, hauling the kettle of snow with him. Gulza, his adopted orc daughter, had been pestering him for days to take her hunting. Perhaps it was her orc blood talking, or maybe she just wanted to leave their isolated home more often than she had been.

As Bruin set the kettle over the dwindling fire of the hearth, the sound of footsteps brought his gaze up to see Runa standing in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Good morning, Papa,” she yawned in greeting. Runa Fair-Shield had grown into a fine young woman in the years she had been his daughter. No longer the skinny little girl with wild blonde hair, Runa had matured into a beautiful, strong young nord woman who carried herself with the poise of a warrior. Bruin's heart warmed at her presence.

“I didn't wake you, did I?” he asked as he moved over to the herb rack. Frost mirriam, purple mountain flowers and snowberries were his targets. All dried, Bruin placed a scoop of each into the mortar and pestle, grinding them into a fine powder. “Would you like some tea?”

From her father's favourite chair, Runa yawned again, having sprawled herself over it as she warmed herself by the hearth. “No, you didn't wake me up,” she replied, stretching her legs towards the fire. “And yes please, I would love some tea.” As Bruin worked, the young woman began taking her hair out of its braid as strands had escaped during the night.

“Have you been awake all night again?”

Runa ran her fingers through her hair. She was frowning, partially from concern, partially in concentration. “You need your sleep, Papa. Y'know, being an old man and all...” she teased.

A loud snort was Bruin's reply as he filled wooden drinking cups with the powdered tea. “Ulfric Stormcloak was well into his fourties, at least, by the time I put him down,” he grumbled as he brought the cups over to the hearth, setting them on the stones that lined the firepit.

“If he can still prance around leading full-blown rebellions at that age, then a little less sleep won't hurt me.” He paused for a moment, scratching at his facial scruff. “Anyway, what are you worrying about me for, hmm? It's my job to worry about you.” He chuckled as he reached out and ruffled Runa's hair, much to her chagrin.

After she had fended her father off, Runa stood and wondered back towards her room. She paused at the doorway to look back at Bruin.

“I'm going to College of Winterhold today to visit Blaise and take him your letters. Then I'm off to Windhelm for a few days to see Grimvar. Is there anything you'd like me to bring back?”

Bruin scowled and looked up at his daughter as he stirred the kettle.

“You're a grown woman now, and I can't tell you how to live your life. But I don't like that Cruel-Sea boy, Runa. I wish you would find yourself another lad worthy of you.”

Pausing only to scowl back, Runa retreated to her room to get ready for the journey. She'd long ago stopped trying to convince Bruin to like Grimvar, and settled for him simply accepting that she wouldn't stop seeing him because her father disapproved.

Their conversation had woken Gulza, who had waited in the other room until Runa had left. She passed by her nordic sister with a questioning eyebrow before she stepped into the light of the hearthfire.

“That went better than I thought it would.”

Bruin turned his gaze to Gulza, noting the differences between his daughters. Both were tall and strong. But where Runa had hair the colour of ripe hay, Gulza had hair of ink. She was slightly taller than Runa, despite being the younger of the pair, and Bruin thought she might grow to be taller than even him one day.

“Did you expect me to curse and yell and forbid her from seeing him?” Bruin huffed as he moved about the room, busying himself with little things as he waited for the water to boil. “I'd rather not make a hypocrite of myself.”

With a shrug, Gulza crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the doorframe in which she stood. “Not specifically. There were fewer threats of Shouting him to Oblivion than I thought, though.”

Bruin guffawed as he cut up root vegetables next to the mortar and pestle. “Maybe when you find yourself a lad, I'll threaten him with my thu'um, hmm?”

When she didn't answer his teasing, Bruin paused and looked up at his daughter. She was picking at her fingernails as if it were the most important thing in the world.

“Gulza, I was joking, I would never-”

“I have a woman.”

“Well, okay, but I'll still break her neck if she breaks your heart.”

There was a pause before Gulza spoke.

“You're not angry?”

Bruin put the knife down next to the chopped carrot and turned to face his daughter across the room. He sighed and ran his fingers through his shaggy black hair.

“Gulza, I have done many things in my life. But never have I been angry with someone for finding happiness, least of all one of my children.”

When she finally looked up at him, Gulza wasn't alone. Runa had come to stand next to her sister, an arm around her shoulder in support.

“I told you he wouldn't be mad,” the nord woman whispered before she pushed past into the room. She wore a thick cotton dress and a big fur cloak made from the skin of a white bear. She also had a large dagger on her belt, for self defence.

The water had begun to boil and Runa wasted no time in crossing the room to ladle some hot water into the teacups. Bruin wordlessly handed her another cup for Gulza, the powdered tea in the bottom.

The thoughtful silence was broken by a knock at the door. All three sets of eyes turned to it, surprised, alarmed, concerned. Bruin gestured for Runa's dagger, using the other hand to bring a finger to his lips, cautioning for quiet. Nobody was supposed to know about their cottage.

Tucking the knife into the back of his belt, Bruin walked over to the door. His shoulders had stiffened and without thinking, he had set his feet and lowered his center of gravity a little. The door swung open with a soft tug, allowing small flecks of snow inside.

Outside stood three people, all in brown robes and chitin plating. Each wore a mask carved with lines that resembled tentacles. It hadn't escaped Bruin's notice that they were armed.

“Are you there one they call Dragonborn?”

“I don't know what you're talking about...”

“Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver! We know you are the False Dragonborn! You shall not stand in the way of the true Dragonborn's return. He comes soon, and we shall offer him your heart! When Lord Miraak appears all shall-”

The words died in a gurgling sigh of blood. The remaining two disappeared in a cloud of snow as Bruin Shouted them from his doorstep. He was there when they rose again, steel flashing in the light of the rising sun.

It was over in a matter of moments.

The sound of footsteps approaching him made Bruin turn and look up to see his daughters slowly approaching him. The dagger shook in his hand. Gulza's face was an open book of awe, almost fear. Runa, on the other hand, was glancing around the small nook the cottage was cradled in.

Straightening, Bruin shielded his bloodied arm from their view. “Gulza, honey, go saddle ol' Mike and Faran for me.”

The orc stopped in her tracks and glanced at the small lean-to that served as a stable. “What's going on?” she asked, picking at her fingernails again. Runa stopped to give her sister a small nudge in the lean-to's direction, whispering comforting words to her. The mer girl deliberately looked at the bodies as she turned to do her father's bidding.

Bruin lowered himself to a knee as Runa approached, searching through the robes of the man's corpse at his feet. “You need to go and pack your things, yours and Gulza's. Take only what you need and what Mike can carry. You're going to Solitude.”

The two bodies in the snow had nothing of interest, so Bruin walked Runa back to the house, passing her back her dagger. He pulled the third corpse away from the door and around the side away from the lean-to so that his daughters didn't have to watch him. 

This time when he searched, he was rewarded with a folded piece of paper.

Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Hrothr Six-Fingers before he reaches Solstheim.

Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.

Bruin's fingers flexed almost instinctively, crumpling the letter between them. Large clouds of steam puffed in front of his face as his nostrils flared in a deep, unsettling anger. Whoever, or whatever this Miraak was, Bruin was going to ensure that he regretted ever sending his minions.

The body was left in the snow as Bruin went back inside. He went directly to his own room, the smallest in the cottage, tucked away at the back. It was barely furnished and only housed a bed, a wardrobe and a small set of drawers. With quick, sure steps, Bruin went to the wardrobe and opened the doors, pushing the hanging clothes out of the way. He pushed against the back firmly, releasing the panel. It slid off to the side, revealing an entrance to a tunnel.

The tunnel led down into the mountain. It had taken Bruin almost a year to dig it out by himself, and more than a fair few pickaxes. None of that mattered now. His footsteps echoed off of the rocky walls as he moved downwards, seeking the roughly hewn room at the end. It was cold and dark and cramped. Purely from memory, Bruin shuffled around the tiny cavern. He took his ebony armour from the old wooden mannequin, looking over the old knicks and scratches on the once shiny surface.

For a moment, he was transported back to his younger years, when he was still known by another name. Moments flashed through his mind’s eye of all the things he had done in that armour, all the people he had killed, all the dragons he had slain. Mirmulnir, the first soul he had devoured, and the first taste of the Thu’um. Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion and claimant to the throne of Skyrim. Harkon, a vampiric overlord who sought to shroud the world in darkness. Alduin, the world-eater.

He wondered if it would even still fit him after all those years. The armour was bundled in heavy black wool cloak, along with a pair of enchanted rings, necklaces, and several dusty phials. The bundle was then placed in a saddlebag that had seen better days, which was then slung over Bruin’s shoulder, along with its partner.

Before he left, Bruin snatched up the giant antique daedric longsword and ebony buckler that were displayed near the entrance, grunting at the familiar weight of them in his hands. He'd never truly thought he'd wield them again. But then, the world never allowed him his plans for life.

As he headed back up, Bruin paused at the entrance, listening to the voices of his daughters as they filtered through the house. Gulza was speaking in a low, strained voice, just quiet enough that Bruin couldn't make out the words.

After another long moment, he emerged. In the short time he had been in his cache, the cottage had been turned upside down. Both young women had half-filled bags in hand, a pile of clothing and other belongings scattered between them. He noted that his own sparse collection had been hurriedly folded and piled onto his chair.

"Now listen to me," he began, looking each girl in the eye. "You're heading north, then west. You only stop to rest Mike, stay off the roads, and don't light any fires." 

Bruin began shoving clothing into the spare saddlebag.

"I don't know who these people were, or why they were here. What I do know is that you're not safe with me anymore." 

Runa scrunched the tunic in her hands, pressing her brows together. 

"But Papa, I-"

She was cut off by a loud bang and the cracking of wood. Her next words died on her breath.

"We don't have time to argue," Bruin growled as he pulled his fist from the crater in the doorframe. "As soon as they realize those men aren't coming back, they'll send more. Finish packing and meet me outside."

Out in the snow, Bruin's soul sang at the smell of blood. He was a dovah in all but flesh, and his mortal morals conflicted heavily with his instinct to dominate. He had had years to suppress the bloodlust, however, and he beat back those desires with a grunt.

Urgency tugging at his mind, Bruin moved to the lean-to where his warhorse stood, chewing half-frozen hay. The shaggy beast barely lifted his head at Bruin's approach, far more interested in his breakfast. At least Old Mike, the mule, brayed a greeting.

“Faran.”

The horse snorted, lifting his massive head to look at his master with mean eyes. His bridle jingled as the horse chewed at the bit, irritated by the disturbance. Bruin was not in the mood to deal with a grumpy stallion. 

The nord opened the gate and stepped in, heading over to Faran to secure his saddlebags to the back of the furred saddle. “Don’t you even think about biting me, you old bastard,” he grumbled, before untying the reins. The horse must have sensed Bruin’s mood, because he turned and walked out of his warm stall into the snow with only a few groans of protest. 

Moments later, Runa and Gulza emerged from the cottage, each holding a couple of bags and bundles in their arms. Neither looked particularly confident, or happy about the situation they found themselves in. Bruin silently helped them pack their things onto Old Mike.

Minutes later, all three stood at the narrow path leading from their home, two pointed northwest, the other pointed east. Bruin hoisted himself onto Faran’s back and looked down at his daughters.

“Travel fast, and travel safe. Look after each other. When you get to Solitude, go to the Winking Skeever and ask around for Jordis the Sword-Maiden. She will keep you safe.” 

The only thing they left behind was a burning cottage and a large plume of smoke.


End file.
